


Rain

by jadegreendragon



Category: Witchblade (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadegreendragon/pseuds/jadegreendragon
Summary: Ian's plan to get Sara alone back fires or does it?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written some time ago and posted elsewhere under the name TRG (thats me). Decided to share here.
> 
> Spoilers: None, no real plot in this one!  
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of TNT, WB and Top Cow. Just borrowing them!
> 
> All comments good or bad very welcome!

Sara parked her bike outside her apartment and looked up at the ever-darkening sky. The last few days had been like a roller coaster ride. The Witchblade had been more active than ever showing Sara vision after vision that she just couldn’t understand. She’s made a call to the only person she that could help her but had had to leave a message for him. Sara couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so tired. 

Sara was still lost in her thoughts when she heard him whisper her name. Turning to find him directly behind her, she wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t heard him.

“Nottingham, about time!” she said slightly annoyed, she’d called him hours ago.

“If you want the truth Sara, you must come with me.” He said reaching out a gloved hand to her.

“Where too?”

“You must trust me Sara.”

Sara looked at Nottingham and didn’t know what to do, did she trust him? The jury was still out on that verdict. Take a chance; she heard the Witchblade whisper to her.

“OK,” She said, giving him her hand and following him back to his car. Slipping into the passenger seat, she watching him slide into the drivers seat and start up the SUV.

It didn’t take Sara long to drift off to sleep. She woke, to her surprise hours later and they were still driving. The scenery had taken a drastic change, not a building in sight, only trees as far as the eye could see. They were on a dirt track the sky above them looked dark and angry.

“Sorry I’m such lousy company,” she said stretching, looking at Ian as he drove, his face showed he was deep in thought.

“You were tired Sara, I understand.” He said warmly.

They drove on in silence. Not a big talker, our Nottingham, Sara thought to herself.

“How much longer?” she said hoping to be able to stretch her legs soon.

“Only a few miles.” Ian said taking a sharp turn and slamming on the brakes.

Sara grabbed onto her seat to stop herself shooting forward and let out a whimper. What the hell! She thought about to abuse him when she noticed the huge tree across the road in front of them.

“It must have come down in the last storms.” Ian said turning off the engine and slipping out of the car. Sara followed him and watched as he circled the fallen tree.

“I do not think we will be able to move it and there is no other way around. We will have to go the rest of the way on foot.”

Sara looked up at the sky. “What about the rain?” she asked not worried about the walk but she hated getting wet.

“It should hold off.” Ian said making his way back to the car and retrieving a couple of bags from the back seat.

“OK, I guess we have no choice.” Sara said falling in behind him.

They had been walking for about 10 min when Sara felt the first drop of rain hit her cheek. It was a big, lazy splash of cold that made her look up at the darkening sky warily. Stepping out of the trees into the clearing the rain was forgotten. The south face of a mountain towered above them, its top wreathed in cloud, a wall of sheer rock sweeping straight down to disappear into the crystalline depths of the still, deep lake laying at its feet. The other three sides sloped gently down to the water, ablaze with wildflowers and tall pine trees.

The setting looked like a postcard, but even as Sara gazed at the scene, spellbound, a sudden breeze riffled the water’s surface and the reflected mountains and clouds shimmered and vanished. And then, abruptly, it was raining. Huge drops of icy water pattered around them, Sara thought she heard Ian swear under his breath and she glanced up at the sky again. It was a solid sheet of rolling black cloud, and a cold wind had picked up, moaning through the trees. Lightening flickered behind them, and a moment or two later the valley shook under with thunder.

It died to rumbling echoes, and Sara gave Ian an eloquent look, saying nothing. He just grinned at her, the wind ruffling his tousled dark hair. “Not to worry, my Lady. We are almost there.” He pointed to what looked like a cabin far off in the distance.

A gust of wind dashed a handful of chilly rain square into Sara’s face and she swore breathlessly, battling to do up the zipper on her jacket. There was another crack of thunder, this one sharp and close, and Sara jumped. It was raining in earnest now, a hard, slashing rain that was cold enough to take Sara’s breath away, as she tucked her head down and took off running towards the cabin. Following her lean Ian took off after her.

The ground was slippery under her boots and with no warning at all; Sara lost her footing and in the next moment found herself landing flat on her back with a thud. She lay there breathless and stunned, as the cloudy sky spun gently above her. She was vaguely aware of someone looming above her, kneeling beside her, shouting at her through the rain and wind.

Ian.

She squinted against the rain falling in her eyes and managed a rough smile. “Are we there yet?”

“No, not even close.” Ian was on his knees beside her, his face white.

Still badly winded, she closed her eyes. “Man that hurts.”

“Damn it, Sara. . “ His voice vibrated with worry. “Do not move, all right? Just do not move until. . “

“I’m OK.” Managing another weak grin, she opened her eyes and started to sit up. “Nothings broken.”

Rainwater was sluicing down the neck of her jacket soaking into the thin sweater and top she wore beneath it, and she shivered violently. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders and pushed her gently back down against the sopping wet grass. “Sara please stop moving around while . . “

“Ian, I’m all right. Or will be if you’d let me sit up. I’m drowning, laying here like this!” She pushed his hands aside and struggled into a sitting position, head swimming.

“I’m OK. Just need to catch my breath . . . “

Ian slipped his arm around Sara’s shoulders to support her, trying to shelter her from the pelting rain with his own body as she sat huddled there, looking pale and dazed.

“Sara, you scared the hell out of me,” he got through gritted teeth, his heart still hammering.

“I’m OK.”

She shivered again and Ian puller the collar of her jacket tightly around her throat. He brushed a handful of soaking hair gently from her face with his free hand, cradling her against him, and looked around them. It was raining even harder now, that kind of heavy rain that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon, and he swore under his breath.

This was his entire fault. If he had not been so intent on getting her alone with him, she would be home right now, safe and sound. Ian hugged her against him as tightly as he dared, closing his eyes for a shaken moment. If she had been hurt, he would never have forgiven himself.

“M-maybe we’d better get going.” She said through chattering teeth. “We’re getting soaked here.”

“The cabin is not too far now.” Ian nodded towards it, squinting into the rain. It was coming down harder that ever now, the wind lashing the small, bitterly cold drops into a stinging curtain. He reached for Sara’s hand and she small fingers folded around his. “Run . . . !”


	2. Part 2

Skidding in wet leaves and sheets of glistening, slippery rocks, they raced through the pelting downpour, Ian half dragging her, as they got closer. A small log cabin appeared from out of the mist and rain and they hit the door at a dead run, staggering into the dim shelter, helpless with laughter.

“I don’t believe this!” Ian slammed the door closed on the storm, still laughing. Rainwater sluiced off him, soaking the pine floor, and he gave himself a shake. “Sorry Sara. I guess this whole idea was a bad one.” 

Sara plucked at her soaking wet jacket, wrinkling her nose expressively. “Well, I’ll admit the special effects could use some work. But . . .” she started wringing water out of her hair “. . This isn’t a trip I’m going to forget soon.”

Ian gave a snort of laughter. “So you haven’t made many trips where you end up half drowned and stranded in the middle of nowhere, you mean?”

“Nope, not in this life time.” She grinned up at him, licking rainwater from her lips.

Ian shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a wooden chair where it dripped noisily. Sara shivered violently, looking around the small cabin. It was small and rustic but comfortable furnished with a couple of big colonial chairs and a sofa grouped around a big stone fireplace. Two big oval rugs covered the pine floors, and a simple pine table and four matching ladder-back chairs sat in one end of the room beside a big window that overlooked the lake. A tiny galley kitchen was tucked in one corner, separated from the rest of the room by an island counter, and in the opposite corner was a set of bunk beds with bright spreads.

“I will get a fire started.” Ian said from behind her. “How about lighting up that Lantern on the table, the matches are right next to it.”

Sara nodded mutely, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering. She gave the lantern a shake, relived it was full. Fumbling with the matches, she finally managed to get one out and strike it. The wick caught in a moment and she replaced the chimney, turning the flame down until it stopped smoking. The warm glow seemed to shove the shadows and chill back a bit, but it was still cold and she shivered again.

Hugging herself, she walked over to stand by the fireplace. Ian was busy with kindling and crumpled balls of yellowed newspaper, peering into the grate with a frown of concentration. Flame flickered to life, growing, and he fed it a few sticks of dry kindling.

Ian gave a grunt of satisfaction. “It will start to warm up pretty soon.”

Sara just nodded again, huddling, as close to the crackling flames as she dared, fighting the racking shivers as pool of water grew around her feet. Her hair drooled down the back of her neck and she moved aside stiffly as Ian got to his feet.

Ian rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a kettle. Turning on the tap above the small sink, a gush of rusty water came out and eventually it became crystal clear, straight from the lake and as cold as ice. He filled the kettle.

The old wood stove took longer to get going. The rest of the kindling, slightly damp, and it took a couple of tried to get it to burn, but he coddled it until it caught properly. Then he carefully stacked a couple of dry logs and closed the cover, adjusting the flue to get a good draft.

Sara was still standing by the fireplace where he’d left her, arms wrapped around herself, looking miserable and cold. A quick trip to the storage cupboard uncovered a stash of big towels and a couple of blankets, and he carried them across, dropping a towel around her neck and tossing the blankets on a nearby chair.

“How are you doing?” he started gently towelling her wet hair, feeling her shiver. “You look like a half drowned puppy I once recused from a river when I was 8.”

“I’ll live,” she mumbled through the towel and wet hair.

“Okay . . .” He gave her hair one more rub, then stepped back and eyed her thoughtfully. “Strip.”

“You wish.” Still shivering, Sara started rubbing her hair with the towel. “I’ll dry out in a few minutes.”

“In a few days, maybe.” Ian had to smile. “Come on Sara, get your wet clothes off or I will take them off for you. You are soaked to the skin and half frozen on top of it. There is a time for modesty, but this is not it.”

“Is that a line you use on all the women you bring up here?” she glared at him through a tangle of wet hair.

“Only the good looking ones.” He grinned down at her, even soaking wet, with her hair plastered down and not a speck of makeup in sight, she was still gorgeous.

He reached out and pulled her jacket off her shoulders, then grabbed the lower edge of her blue sweater and tugged it up. “Lift your arms.”

She lifted them obediently and he pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside, but when he reached out to do the same with her top, she slapped his hand away. “I’ll do it.”

“Chicken.” Grinning, he turned away from her and started unbuttoning his shirt. He stripped it off and draped it over the back of a chair, then started rubbing his arms and shoulders dry with another towel. “Tell me when you are decent.”

Sara dabbed at a trickle of water wandering down her cheek, staring distrustfully at Ian’s board, muscled back. She shivered again suddenly, then tossed the towel aside with a resigned sign and started to peel out of her top and soaking jeans. Even her bra and panties were soaked through and she stood there for an indecisive moment, then peeled them off, too, deciding that Ian was right about there being a time and place for modesty.

She rubbed herself with the towel until her skin glowed, then wrapped one of the blankets around herself and knotted it firmly, hanging her dripping clothes over the edge of the wood box. The fire crackled comfortable and Sara could already feel the chill in the room starting to lift. Combing her hair back with her hands, she turned around to tell Ian that he could turn around now.

And instead just stood there with her mouth half open transfixed.

He was standing with his back to her, whistling softly, as naked as the day he’d been born.  His pants and briefs lay in a sopping pile on the floor beside him and he was towelling his torso dry. Powerless to help herself, Sara watched as the lamplight played over the contours of his rain-damp body. She only ever imagined before how well proportioned he would be, broad-shouldered and lean hipped, with long, well muscled legs and the grace and economy of movement of the natural athlete.

He half turned towards her, glancing up and catching her stare. Completely unembarrassed, he straightened and calmly draped one of the blankets around his hips, nodding towards the stove. “I will make some coffee.”

“I, um. . . will help you.” To her annoyance, Sara felt a hot blush spill across her cheeks and she turned away and walked towards what looked like a pantry cupboard, furious at her childish reaction to an innocent situation.


	3. Part 3

Wishing her cheeks would stop burning, she fumbled with the catch on the cupboard, finally managing to get it undone, then wrenching the door open. There was nothing inside but a few big metal canisters, but when she pulled one of them towards her, she realised it was full. It took a minute to pry the tightly sealed top off, but when she finally got it open and peered inside, she gave a mutter of satisfaction. “Well we won’t starve, anyway.”

“What did you find?” Ian appeared beside her suddenly, his bare arm pressing against her shoulder.

“Soup mixes, three, four, five different kinds. Dried vegetables. Beans. What’s this?” she pulled out a bag and peeked inside. “Lentils.”

“Powdered milk.” Ian had opened one of the other canisters and was rummaging through it. “Sugar. Flour. Rice.”

“Hot chocolate mix. Tinned milk.” Sara was rifling through the smaller tins stacked on a lower shelf. “Baked Beans. Chilli – Texas style, extra hot. That sounds like it has possibilities.” She pulled the heavy tin out and set it aside. “Some tinned veggies. More soup.”

“Pasta.”

Sara reached for another big canister just as Ian did and his forearm brushed against hers, their hands colliding. The sensation of his bare skin against hers send an odd little tingle through Sara, almost like an electric shock, and she drew her arm back self-consciously. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

She swallowed, feeling silly and awkward for some reason, vibrantly aware of how close he was standing, of the warmth radiating off his bare chest, the scent of his rain-damp skin. As he pulled the lid off the canister, his arms touched hers and he left it pressed against her, warm and damp. “Tea. Coffee.”

Ian’s voice sounded oddly tight and she glanced up at him just as he looked at her and as his gaze hit hers, Sara felt another little tingle shoot through her. There was something in his eyes that made her breath catch slightly, an awareness she didn’t think she’d ever seen there before, awareness of her, not just as Sara the wielder of the Witchblade, but as a woman. Awareness of himself. Of the fact that they were alone up here, half naked and surrounded by firelight and storm.

A vision hit her – memories not her own of making love to him in a cabin much like this one. Vital, vivid memories of exactly what it had been like: the slick whisper of flesh on flesh in the firelight shadows, the way he’d filled her, heavy, solid, male. The weight of his body on hers, more erotic than anything she could remember. The things she’d seen in his eyes as he’d moved within the tender prison of her body.

The package of soup mix she’d been holding hit the floor with a thump and she started slightly. She managed to tear her gaze away from Ian’s, breathing unsteadily, and she reached up to brush her damp hair in a nervous gesture she caught half way through. “I . . . Soup would be nice. Don’t you think?”

“Yes.” His voice was rough and he sounded distracted as though soup was the last thing on his mind. “Soup will be fine.”

But She made no move to pick up the package of soup and neither did Ian.  Made no move to turn away and neither did Ian. There was a crash of thunder that made the windowpanes rattles, but she barely noticed, aware of nothing but the rhythmic beat of her own heart, the heat from Ian’s bare arm, the sound of his breathing.

And then, for no reason at all, she found herself turning towards him. Lifting her head to look up at him. And wasn’t even surprised to find his mouth just there, touching hers, lips brushing hers lightly, no more pressure than the warmth of his breath. She let her eyes slide closed and put her hands out to steady herself, palms resting on his bare ribs, and he settled his hands on her shoulders, fingers curling lightly around the back of her neck, warm and strong, yet so gentle it was almost a caress.

His mouth made another pass across hers, barely touching, the tip of his tongue caressing her lower lip. Her lips parted of their own accord and he kissed her gently, just a brief pressure of his mouth on hers, tongue sliding between her lips then away before she was fully aware of it. His lips closed gently on her lower one for an instant: then he touched the bow of her upper lip with his tongue again, a silken caress that made she shiver.

Lightly, she ran her fingertips up his chest, brushing the hard nub of his nipple and hearing his breath catch ever so slightly, nails catching in the wiry hair as she slid her fingers slowly through it. Wanting, needing to touch him. Tasting the heat of his breath on her mouth and wanting more, touching his lips with the tip of her tongue, feeling them part. Daring to kiss him lightly, letting her mouth rest on his, sliding her tongue along the cleft between his parted lips and finding his there . . . the first teasing touch, silk on silk, headily erotic.

Too erotic. It made her dizzy and confused, and she turned her head away, let it drop forward until she was resting her forehead on his wide chest, eyes closed, feeling shaky and suddenly very warm. Wondering what was happening. Why was he letting her do this, why she was letting herself do this . . . .

His fingers caressed the side of her throat, then her shoulders, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear, her throat. And then, finally, he drew his hands lingeringly from her shoulders and stepped back from her.

“Vegetable OK?”

Sara drew in a very deep careful breath. “Yes,” she whispered, not even daring to look at him. “Fine. That’s fine.”

And then he stepped away and was gone, the air suddenly chilly again, and Sara took another deep breath and looked around. He was standing by the sink, frowning a little as he read the instructions on the package.

“I think . . “ her voice was so hoarse, she had to swallow. “I think all you have to do is add boiling water.”

“All right.” He looked at her then, and even from across the room it was like a physical touch, his gaze holding hers for a long, taut moment.

Then he smiled slightly, just a hint of acknowledgement that he was as aware as she that something had happened in the past few minutes that was catching then both by surprise. Was still happening even as he stood looking at her. Could evolve into something else again should they both agree to it.

The smile widened and his eyes warmed, locked with hers. Then he turned away and started looking through the cupboards as though nothing had happened at all.


	4. Part 4

Sara stood there awkwardly for a minute or two, not quite knowing what to do. She didn’t want to get dressed again. Just the thought of putting on those sopping wet jeans and top made her shudder. But she wasn’t certain that staying wrapped up in nothing more substantial than a scratchy wool blanket was what she wanted to do either.

Then she finally just padded across to the fireplace, too confused at the moment to know what she wanted, other than to get warm and dry. She sat down on the rug, as close to the fire as she could get without actually singeing herself and stared down at the Witchblade on her wrist.

Immediately, the Witchblade bombarded her with image of Ian and herself, lying together, bathed in firelight, touching, exploring each other. Sara swore under her breath.

Ian heard Sara swear and glanced around to look at her. “Is everything OK?”

“What?” Sara said. She looked up at him; cheeks pink from the fire’s heat and stared at him. Then she blinked. “Oh, yes. Everything just fine.” She smiled slightly. “I was just thinking of throwing this thing into the fire.”

“Why?” Ian laughed. “What did it do this time?”

“Got the last word, as usual.”

“About what?”

But Sara shook her head, letting her gaze drop, and wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and tugged the blanket more tightly around her. “Nothing important.”

Ian just nodded, then went back to what he was doing. The box of biscuit mix he had found made it sound easy, but he was starting to have his doubts that they were going to have fresh baked buttermilk biscuits with their soup. Another minute of two, in fact, and he was going to toss the whole mess out.

But then it looked as though it was going to work out after all, and he dropped mounds of biscuit dough into a baking dish , shoved it into the oven and hoped for the best.

To his profound surprise, he opened the oven a few minutes later and discovered that he had not done that badly at all. They were lumpy looking things, and a couple of them had scorched, but all in all they looked edible. And if smell was anything to go by, they might even be good.

Pleased with himself, he dumped soup mix into a couple of mugs and poured boiling water on top of it, tossed the biscuits into a small basket he had taken from the cupboard, added the tinned butter he had found, put the whole works on a tray that had been on the counter and carried it in to where Sara was sitting by the fire.

Sara was staring into the flames and she looked up when he came in. Her eyes met his and Ian felt his gut tighten. That little sizzle of sexual awareness between them still there.

Sara felt it, too, and let her gaze slide from his. Ian eased out a tight breath and set the tray on the stone heath, telling himself it was nothing he could not handle. The storm. The fire and lamplight. Knowing she was deliciously naked under that old plaid blanket she had wrapped around her. Knowing one tug on that knot was all it would take . . .

He wrenched his thoughts back into line and dropped onto the rug beside her, forcing himself not to notice the way the firelight spilled down the silken curve of her shoulder. “I guess this is not what you would have planned for dinner,” he said gruffly, “but it is hot.”

“And biscuits.” Her voice was rough. “How did you manage that?”

“Read the back of the box.”

“Oh.” Sara picked up one of the mugs and took a cautious sip of the streaming hot soup. “It’s good.”

“Thank goodness. You sure it is OK?”

Sara nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“Eyelash.”

She’d been tearing a hot biscuit in half and stopped, looking at him questioningly.

“You have a . . “ Ian reached out without even thinking and ran the tip of his finger across her cheek removing a stray eyelash, his gut pulling a little tight at just that innocent a touch. Very carefully, not sure what was going on but knowing it could get him into trouble, he drew his hand back.

Sara had gone very still. Ian could see the pulse in her throat and found himself staring at it, fighting a sudden urge to lower his mouth to that exact same spot and . . .

“This is nice,” Sara’s voice sounded a trifle breathless and Ian tore his gaze from her throat to meet hers.

“The soup?” he asked.

“The impromptu picnic.” Sara said looking away again after a moment, tearing off another piece of biscuit although she hadn’t tasted the first bit yet. Then she glanced at him, smiling. “It was a good idea to bring me here, Nottingham. And I apologise for the hard time I’ve been giving you lately. I keep forgetting that you’re new to being on your own and you’re still adjusting to your new life.”

Ian managed a humourless smile. “I am still trying to adjust to it all. I am not used to being alone, having freedom to do as I please.”

“It all takes time Ian.” Sara said smiling up at him. “And you’re not alone you know, you’ll always have me.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as they sat relaxed, warm and comfortable in front of the fire. As before, Ian found himself just watching her. He loved how graceful her hands were, the fingers long and slender. He loved the curve of her bare shoulder, burnished by firelight, the skin glowing like smooth satin. He loved the soft swell of her lower lip . . . . He stared at that lip, thinking that she had the most kissable mouth of any woman he had ever seen – sweet and warm and responsive.

There was a tiny crumb there now, and he reached out and cradled her chin with his fingers and brushed the crumb away with his thumb. Slowly. Loving the feel of her mouth as he traced its curve with his thumb again, outlining her upper lip, then down to the moist cleft between.

Sara’s lips parted and Ian felt the delicate touch of her tongue against his thumb and watched, heavy-lidded, as she took it into her mouth, her eyes locked with his. And it was then, in that heartbeat moment that seemed to last an eternity, that Ian realised they had been heading for this moment all day.

He took his thumb from between her lips and traced her lower lip again, and then, slowly, knowing there was no rush whatsoever, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her slowly.


	5. Part 5

Sara didn’t seem to be any more surprised by it that he was, lips already parting in welcome, greeting the probing touch of his tongue with hers. Her hands touched his bare shoulders delicately, almost tentatively, one running up through his still damp hair, the other curling around the back of his neck.

He drew his mouth from hers finally, laughing, and brushed her hair back from her face to gaze down into her eyes. “You said this sort of thing would never happen.”

“I know.” She traced his face with her eyes, feature by feature, as though she’d never really seen it before. “This is crazy.”

“Right.” And then Ian was kissing her again, seriously kissing her this time, just letting himself go with it, losing himself in the sweet magic of Sara. It felt right . . . God, anything that felt this good had to be right!

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this,” Sara murmured against his mouth a minute or two later, her mouth browsing along his lower lip.

“I agree. Absolutely.” Ian lowered his mouth to her shoulder and caressed the soft skin with his lips, his pulse rate all over the map, willpower slipping badly. Sara smelled of rainwater and firelight, and he could feel the weight of her breast against his arm, the pressure of her thigh along his, and knew he was well on his way to losing it.

“Sara, I want to make love to you!” Ian groaned and turned his head away, knowing he should be pushing her away from him while he still had the strength. But then his mouth found hers and he was kissing her again, hard and deep, and knew it was already too late.

Sara opened her mouth fully to his, tasting his desire, hot and metallic, knowing she should be stopping him, that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. That she’d regret it in the morning. That, if they made love, it could ruin the friendship they had been trying to cultivate.

There were a thousand reasons not to let this go on . . . and yet she could no more have stopped him than she could stop the rain still hammering down on the shingled roof.

And then he pulled her down onto the rug and the blanket she’d so modestly tied around her had fallen open and she was naked to him, her skin so sensitive that even the weight of his breath made her moan softly. Then the room seemed to fade away, past lives, visions merged and it was as thought they had made love just that morning, her body still remembered every touch of his hands and mouth, yet he had never really touched her.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Ian murmured, nuzzling her throat, her breasts, her belly.

“How come we have never done this before, Sara?”

“We have.” She joked.

“Long ago, lifetimes ago.” He whispered, mouth moving, promising. He captured one taut nipple between his lips and teased it with his tongue. “Too long ago. I love your skin, like silk. Love the way you smell and taste and feel . . .”

Sara lifted his head and kissed him, thinking fleetingly that if she was ever going to say no, it had to be now. This wasn’t going to change things, they weren’t suddenly going to fall in love and everything would be prefect. Nothing would be different afterwards.

And yet, suddenly she didn’t care. For that moment he did love her, as deeply and passionately as any man had ever loved a woman, and she loved him. She was in his arms, and that was all that mattered. For now, anyway. And tomorrow  . . . well, she’d deal with tomorrow when it arrived. Smiling a little, she slipped her arms around him and simply gave herself over to his magic.

And magic it was. He knew her by heart, a conquering hero retaking stolen lands: knew where to touch, and how, and just the right words to growl against her ear. Knew things she’s all but forgotten, the sly touch of his tongue, the caress of a fingertip, the exact way to coax sensations from her she’d never dreamed possible.

Ian nudged her thighs apart gently with his, fingers gently teasing her, readying her, pleasing her. . . and then, suddenly, he went very still. “Sara . . “ He nuzzled the side of her throat, her ear. “Sara, tell me it is all right. Tell me you are taking something.” He groaned, resting his forehead on her shoulder. “Please be taking something.”

Sara’s eyes flew open as she realised, finally, what he meant. “It’s all OK, I’m taking the pill, everything will be fine, and we can make love.”

“Then I suggest we get started,” he whispered against her ear.

And did.

The last thing Ian was conscious of was hearing Sara give a low, throaty moan at the first intrusive touch of his body, and thinking a little insanely as he pressed downwards and inward that making love to her was like coming home. And then there was nothing but hot silk and the sound of her sigh and an explosion of pure sensation as he made that first long, slow, slippery slide into ecstasy itself.

He moved gently and very, very slowly at first, wanting it to last forever, unable to even think of being anywhere but here, so deep within her they breathed with the same breath, felt the same heartbeat. She was not just his for the moment, but part of him, part of the fabric of his world, of everything that made him who and what he was.

Sara moaned again softly and he braced his arms and watched her with a kind of breathless wonderment as she arched under him, small white teeth across her lower lip as though to hold back a cry of pleasure, eyes closed. Her breasts lifted, the dark tips swollen, and the skin on her abdomen and belly glowed with firelight.

He drank in the sight of her loving him, unable to take his eyes from her as she lifted her hips to meet his downwards thrust, the muscles in her belly tightening, her fingers clenching convulsively on his shoulders. Why in God’s name had not they been like this all along? Why has he been denied this for so long? Why had he not been allowed to feel this love, real love before.

Ian lowered himself over her again and cradled her head in his palms and she opened her eyes, and he read things there that took his breath away. Not saying anything, he simply smiled down at her and a moment later she smiled back and then he stopped thinking, stopped trying to figure it out, stopped trying to make sense of something that made no sense and just let himself go.

It did not take nearly as long as he would have liked any plans he had had of making it last gone after the first few minutes. It was hard and fast and good, and when Ian got there first, he was smart enough to just go with it, knowing Sara would take longer, that they had plenty of time, that it would be better this way. He did not rush it, but neither did he hold himself back, and when it finally happened, he just let it explode up and through him like a juggernaut, groaning her name with savage satisfaction.

And then, laughing a little at Sara’s first look of mild apprehension, Ian deliberately and slowly took her the rest of the way. Sara started to argue at first, saying it was all right, that she didn’t mind, giving a shocked little gasp of surprise when she realised what he intended to do, blushing and embarrassed at the easy intimacies he was taking.

But then Ian reminded her it was hardly the first time, well maybe in this lifetime it was, and if Sara could not trust him who could she trust, and that he was enjoying it almost more that she was . . . and after a distrustful moment or two, she let him love her the way he wanted to. And then she gave another indrawn gasp a moment of two later, this one of raw pleasure, and all her arguments were forgotten under his artful ministrations.

It took no time at all, Ian’s sly fingers and tongue finishing what his body had started, and Sara sobbed his name and tried to writhe away, but he held her firmly and watched her ride through it, up and over and down, crying out again and again as the spasms rippled through her.

Grinning a little, feeling fatuously pleased with himself, Ian eased himself up and along Sara’s trembling body and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. He could feel the tiny aftershocks still quivering through her and her heart hammering against his as she relaxed into his embrace, spent and dazed.


	6. Part 6

They lay like that for a long while, comfortable and relaxed, listening to the rain pound down on the roof of the cabin. Ian got up once or twice to poke the fire and add another log or two then would stretch out beside her and pull the blanket over them. They made love again not too long afterwards, this time slow and long, eyes locked, not saying a word until near the end.

Then Ian reared up onto his knees and lifted Sara across his lap so she was kneeling astride him, and Sara laughed and tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him. And then she was loving him with wild, fierce intensity, her slender body moving like flame on him, uninhibited and joyfully greedy as she pleased herself again and again. And only then did she take the same ferocious joy in pleasuring him taking a long delicious time to make it so good for him that Ian had his doubts he’d be able to ever move after it was over, let alone make love again anytime soon.

They spent the entire evening like that, storm forgotten, Witchblade forgotten, everything in the world forgotten but the two of them and the small oasis of pleasure they inhabited. Sara got up once and made tea and rummaged around in the cupboards until she found a package of shortbread cookies. While she was doing that Ian remembered that the sofa pulled out into a huge, soft bed.

Ian poked through the closet until he found sheets and blankets and an armful of pillows, and he made a deep warm nest in front of the fire for them. Sara brought the tea and cookies over and they snuggled down against a pile of down pillows in a tangle of arms and legs, naked and warm and pleasantly tired, while the storm roared outside.

They got distracted after a while, and Ian set the tea and the rest of the cookies on the floor and turned to her with a glitter in his eyes that had noting to do with the firelight. And in a little while he slid between her thighs and eased himself deep, deep into her welcoming warmth, in no hurry at all, each slow, lazy thrust of his hips just a prelude to the pleasures ahead.

They took their time, pausing now and gain to catch their breath, shifting a little, trying something new, something old. Ian finally wound up half lying against a mound of pillows on his back with Sara above him, and he watched through desire-slitted eyes as she lifted her arms and ran her fingers through her thick hair, back arched slightly, breasts lifted. She seemed in no rush, thighs clamped around his hips, her weight fully settled over him.

Ian planted his hands on her slender thighs, fingers splayed against the pale flesh, and he simply relaxed and watched her, loving the way the firelight flicked on her damp, warm skin as she moved, loving the shadows and curves of her, the thrust of her full breasts, the weight of her pelvis astride his.

Her gaze met his just them and she smiled that Sara smile he knew and loved so much, and he found himself grinning back, knowing what she was thinking, knowing he didn’t have to say a thing. They could after all practically read each other’s minds when they wanted to, he knew what she was thinking and feeling. Knew by the change in her breathing and the hunger in her eyes that she was getting closer, smiled again as he watched her take everything she needed, trusting him, to let her do this, trusting him, to help her, to know even better than she when it was time.

Sara caught her breath on a soft moan suddenly, lower lip between her teeth, her movements becoming uneven, almost urgent, and when Ian responded by starting to move under her at just the right moment, she moaned again and arched her back, thighs loosening. Sara seemed to shiver slightly and Ian moved his hand to where they were joined and started to caress her lightly and she sobbed something, clutching at his forearms for support.

Ian took her to the very edge of it and halfway over, and then very deliberately rolled her over so she lay beneath him and finished it then and there, each strong, hard thrust of his body making her cry out with pleasure until finally it caught her and swept her away. Sara gave another sharp, startled cry, this one of pure satisfaction, and he followed it an instant later with one of his own. They collapsed, out of breath, panting into each other’s arms, hearts hammering, and Ian knew that he’d be perfectly content to stay up here with her for the rest of time.

They slept after that, tangled up in each other’s arms in the fluttering shadows cast by the fire. Sara half wakened a couple of times and lay there in the half darkness, warms and sleepy, listening to the rain and watching Ian sleep beside her.

How easy it would be to convince herself that it could be like this forever. That from this day on, she’d awaken every morning and find herself tucked close against him, thighs still gently aching from hours of lovemaking, and feel his breath on her cheek.

Too easy. In spite of herself, Sara smiled slightly. She knew it wasn’t real, In a little while they were going to have to figure out how they were going to get back to the car, and they would move back into there everyday lives, cop and assassin.


	7. Part 7

It was almost dark when Sara awakened. The fire was snapping nosily, flames leaping, and she sat up sleepily and looked around. Ian was up, standing by the window at the front of the cabin, looking outside. He was still naked, firelight burnishing the planes and angles of his lean body, and she sat there for a silent moment, smiling as she watched him.

Only then did she realize how quiet it was. The fire crackled softly, but the rain had stopped.

“Has the storm blown over?” Sara shivered slightly and pulled the sheet up around her shoulders.

Ian glanced around, a smile tipping one corner of his mouth up. “Not exactly. You had better come over here and see this yourself.”

“Why? What's wrong?” Frowning, Sara slid from between the sheets, grabbing up a loose blanket and wrapping it around herself. “Jeez, it's cold in here!”

“I hope you were not in any hurry to get back to the town.”                                                                           

Sara smiled as she walked toward him. “Not particularly. But we should start thinking about how we're going to get back to the car. It's a long way.”

“Well, we definitely not going anywhere tonight.”

“Why?” She stepped beside him and looked out the window. “What-oh my God!”

Snow. The entire world had vanished under a thick blanket of snow. And it was still coming down, huge soft flakes spiraling out of the twilight sky like goose down. The trees were already covered with it, heavy boughs drooping under the weight, and the ground was nothing but a blanket of white. And it was silent, absolutely still; there was not even a breath of wind. Just the big tumbling flakes spilling down in a curtain so thick, she couldn't even see the edge of the clearing that led down to the lake.

“The temperature must have dropped while we were asleep,” Ian said.

“What on earth are we going to do?” Sara looked at him, not quite frightened but decidedly uneasy.

“Stay in bed,” was his reasonable reply. His grin widened lazily, eyes holding hers in a warm embrace. “You have a better idea?”

“Well . . .” Sara looked back out at the snow. “We can't stay up here forever. Someone will be looking for us. Won’t they?”

“Danny knows where I have brought you. I called him while you slept so that he would not worry.”

Ian reached out and slid his arms around her and tugged her against him. “We have food, firewood and us, Sara. I can not for the life of me think of another thing we need.” His mouth browsed along the nape of her neck. “With luck, it will snow for a week.”

“And work?”

“Whose work?” He nipped her earlobe, his hand making an interesting foray beneath the blanket, caressing her breasts with comfortable familiarity.

Sara smiled, relaxing against him, feeling his body already start to respond to the promise in hers. His hand slipped lower, then lower still, and she had to catch her breath at the sudden intimacy of his caress. She could see the room behind them reflected in the darkened glass, the flames flickering in the fireplace, the rumpled bed.

Breathing a little unsteadily, she watched their reflections as Ian deliberately tugged the blanket open, continuing to caress her, his hand moving slowly, erotically. Above her head, his reflection smiled a slow, knowing smile, watching her watching him.

“Want to go back to bed for a while?” His voice was just a husky purr, and his eyes glowed a little dangerously.

Sara wet her lips, already so aroused that it was difficult to breathe, wondering how it was possible to feel this way this soon. She should be exhausted, should never want to even think about sex again let alone some of the things she was thinking right now.

“Y-yes. Oh. . .” She shut her eyes and sagged against him.

“Oh. . . please.”

“So soon? I have barely even started.”

“I know. Oh. . . I know! This. . . this can't be happening. It's impossible. Impossible.”

And sometime later, dazed with sensation, listening to her own voice lifting through the stillness of the room in short, breathless cries of pure pleasure as Ian moved strongly and steadily in the cradle of her thighs, Sara discovered it wasn't impossible at all.

By dawn it had stopped snowing, and they awoke to a world so dazzling white, it took Sara's breath away. Her clothes were dry by then, or pretty much so, and she pulled them on hurriedly while Ian tried to coax the wood stove in the kitchen to cooperate long enough to boil water for coffee.

Pulling the cabin door open, Sara took a deep breath of crisp, cold air and laughed aloud, squinting against the brilliance. The sky had cleared and was so deeply blue, it hurt to look at it, and the snow was already melting, water pitter-pattering as it dripped off the eaves and drooping pine boughs and trickled down the path in a dozen noisy little streams.

Sara walked outside and turned her face up to the hot sun, thinking a little wistfully that it would have been nice if it had snowed for a week. Or at least a day or two longer. She glanced over her shoulder at Ian, who'd gotten the stove going and was dumping coffee into an old percolator he'd found, whistling to himself. He had pulled on his pants but nothing else and was padding around in his bare feet, looking rugged and competent and just a little disreputable, hair tousled, cheeks flushed. One look at him and you knew what he'd been up to all night.

Grinning, she scooped up a handful of wet snow and sidled back into the cabin, trying to look innocent. Or as innocent as it was possible for a woman to look, she amended, after spending the night she had.

Ian glanced up at her and smiled. “So?”

“So, what?”

“So, how are you this morning?” His smile widened. “We have not spent a lot of time talking since we woke up an hour or so ago.”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” She broke into a wide grin. “But I think you could use some cooling off.”

Ian knew something was up the instant he looked at her, but it was not until the snowball hit him square in the chest that he realized what it was. He let out a yelp and leapt back, trying to paw it off him. He missed a lump and it went slithering down his belly and he swore breathlessly as icy water trickled into his pants.

Sara gave a whoop of laughter and Ian grinned, starting to slowly circle the end of the island and move toward her. “Not a good idea, My Lady. Not a good idea at all.”

Still grinning, Sara started backing toward the door. “You're in your bare feet, Nottingham,” she reminded him quite practically. “I have my boots on. And you are not going to chase me outside in your bare feet.”

“Try me!”

He made a lunge for her and she gave a yelp of laughter and bolted for the door, and Ian laughed as she slipped out of his grasp like an eel and was outside before he could stop her. He was after her in the next heartbeat, not even bothering with shoes, and as she scampered across the veranda and down the stairs, he vaulted the veranda railing and caught her easily. Grabbing Sara around the waist with one arm, Ian intended to lift her up and carry her back inside, but he was off balance and the ground was slippery, and instead they both landed in a tangle of arms and legs in the nearest snow bank.

Ian got on top of her and held her hands, grinning down at her. “What were you saying about getting cooled off.”

“Ian! You’re nuts! You’re going to . . . you’re”

“Say you are sorry, my lady. Better yet, give me a kiss.”

“ Ian!” Half strangled with laughter, Sara wriggled and fought under his weight, then capitulated with a grin. “One kiss.”

“Maybe two.” He rested his mouth on hers, nibbling her lower lip. “On second thought, how about an even dozen?”

“We’re going to get soaking wet again,” she murmured, already slipping her arms around his neck.

“Then we will have to take everything off and hang it up to dry,” he whispered back, already starting to unbutton her shirt. “And stay in bed all day . . .”

“Better than staying out here all day . . . I’m starting to freeze!”

“I will warm you up,” Ian murmured, tracing a line of kisses along the upper swell of her breast. “I can think of at least a couple of . . .”

Sara had gone still, head turned slightly as though she was listening. “Ian, I hear something. Isn’t that a . . .”

“Helicopter,” he growled, turning his head to watch as the chopper came clattering up the valley, following the edge of the lake. “Hell.” He blew out his breath and rested his forehead on her cheek, swearing again under his breath. “I think we just got rescued, my Lady.”

Although it was too damn bad they could not have waited a day or two he thought savagely, getting to his feet reluctantly. He reached down and tugged Sara up, then realized he was standing ankle deep in melting snow and winced, making his way back to the cabin veranda.


	8. Part 8

The helicopter made a quick turn and came back, low enough that the downdraft from its rotors whipped up a froth of wet snow and lashed the pine trees, sending needles and small branches flying. It made a pass over the cabin and Ian lifted his arm in greeting, then let it drop by his side, wishing he could send whoever was aboard back down the valley for a day or two or thirty.

Instead, he simply watched it land with a fatalistic calm. It was the Vorschlag chopper, and he wondered idly if who was piloting it. He glanced at Sara and noticed the not too happy smile on her face.

The pilot was someone he didn’t know, and the other two people aboard were Danny and Vicki, both looking tired and frightened. Danny was out and running toward the cabin before the chopper had even landed properly. He pulled Sara into a huge hug. “Thank god!” he said and then moved over to Ian. He grabbed Ian’s outstretched hand in a ferocious grasp, and then pounded him on the back. “Man, am I ever glad to see you two! You had us scared to death!”

Ian winced, realizing that he had not given a thought to the concern their extended disappearance might have caused. Sara, trying to hastily button her blouse and stuff it back into her jeans, gave him a quick guilty look, obviously thinking the same thing.

“We are okay. . We got a bit cold and wet getting to the cabin on foot but other than that we are fine.”

“I've never been so scared!” Vicki’s face was pale and she looked as though she'd been crying. “A ranger found the car abandoned and we feared the worst.”

“We called in the search-and-rescue people,” Danny explained, “but by then it was snowing up here like there was no tomorrow and they couldn’t send a plane or even a chopper up. We hoped you'd found the cabins, but...” He gave his head a shake, his long homely face serious. “I'm telling you, you gave us all a bad night.”

“We thought something terrible had happened,” Vicki said with a shudder. “All I could see was the two of you lying up here injured, and then it started to snow.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and Sara gave her a tight hug. “Hey, we're both okay.”

“We got to the cabin before it started to snow. We are fine.” Ian said. His eyes met Sara's over Vicki’s head and she bit her lip to hold back a smile, she let go of Vicki and slipped her arm around Vicki’s waist. “I feel awful,” she said quietly. “You two spent the night worrying, and Ian and I. . .”

She stopped dead, mouth still open, and Ian grinned, interested in seeing how she was going to get herself out of the corner she had just painted.

“We, um, we lit a fire and stayed warm and dry. And there was plenty of food.” She glanced at Ian over Vicki's head, and he gave her a quick, secret smile.

“Warm.” Vicki gave Sara, then him, a suddenly speculative look. Her gaze drifted past Ian and into the interior of the cabin, where the big rumpled bed, obviously the only one that had been used, was in plain sight. She nodded slowly, mouth warmed by the barest hint of a smile. “I see.”

There was no need to remind her to keep it to herself, Sara knew. Vicki had worked with Sara for years, and although she wasn't shy about giving her advice she thought she needed including any about her love life, nothing she heard, saw or even speculated on ever went beyond the two of them.

Ian just gave her a lazy smile, getting a mildly disapproving look in return. “I hope you realize what a scare you gave everyone,” she said a bit tartly. “Up here keeping _warm_ while the rest of us thought you'd fallen over a cliff and killed yourself or something. I think every television and radio station had someone on the story, the precinct is crawling with film crews and reporters.”

Ian swore. “Why?”

“Well it’s not everyday a billionaire and a police detective go missing together in the forest is it?”

“Shit!” Sara said not liking that it had become public knowledge. Ever since Ian had officially taken over Vorschlag after the announcement of his father’s death, the press had hounded him.

“Jake’s taking care of it. But the sooner you two get the rest of your clothes on and we get back, the better. There has been some interesting speculation going around.” She looked at the two of them as she said it.

Ian swore again. “You are right. Let’s move.” A few minutes ago he had have been happy to spend the rest of his life up here in bed with Sara. But now, abruptly, duty called.

He strode back into the cabin, pausing long enough to take the now bubbling coffee percolator off the stove before starting to grab up the rest of his discarded clothes. Sara came in behind him, looking a little pensive as she closed the door behind her. She looked across the cabin at him, not saying anything, then picked up her bra from the back of the chair where she’d hung it to dry.

As though suddenly shy, she turned her back as she slipped off her blouse and put on the bra. Ian watched her thoughtfully, wanting to say something to her, but not knowing what. Wanting to go across and slip his arms around her and tell her what it had meant, being up here with her. What making love to her had meant.

He suddenly realized that he did not have a clue as to what she wanted to do now. Write the whole night off as a memory? A mistake? Continue their relationship when they got back . . .? Hell, he had not thought about that. What were they going to do now? Yeah, he wanted to continue sleeping with her, but she might have an opinion or two about that. If they did get a relationship going, what then?

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, feeling more confused by the passing minutes. Damn it, none of this had seemed important last night. Drunk on sex, he had not been able to think further ahead than the next five minutes of pleasure.

Frowning, still thinking about it, he looked around to see if he had forgotten anything. Picking up Sara’s coat, he walked across and handed it to her. He frowned, looking down at her, knowing he needed to say something. Anything, damn it. Just so she knew how he felt.

"Thanks." Her voice was emotionless. Almost cool, as she took the coat from him. And she still would not look at him, Ian thought remotely. There had been none of her usual teasing, no laughter, not even a hint of warmth or tenderness. Nothing to indicate she even wanted to acknowledge what had happened up here. As though it was over and in the past and she would prefer not to even mention it again.

She turned and walked toward the door, and Ian suddenly took a couple of long strides and caught her before she opened it. “Wait,” he growled, pulling her around. “One last thing before we leave. .”

She wasn’t expecting it, and he felt more than heard her startled little intake of breath as his mouth landed across hers. He kissed her hard and long and deep, not getting much of a response, not really even expecting one. And when he lifted his mouth from hers a few moments later, he just grinned a little savagely. “God knows when I am going to get the chance to do that again. It may have to hold us both for a while.”

There was something in her eyes he could not decipher, a soft tangle of emotions, and she simply gazed up at him, lips still softly parted, moist from his. Then she took a deep breath and nodded, frowning a little as she turned away. “We’d better go.”

Ian frowned too, wanting equally badly to stay. Wanting to scoop her into his arms and tumble across the bed with her and lose himself in her. Wanting... hell, wanting things he did not even understand! “We should talk.”

She gave him a quick, cryptic look, eyes searching his.

“We have to get back, Ian.”

“Yes.” Smiling humorlessly, he reached out and brushed a tangle of hair behind her ear, her cheek like velvet against the back of his hand. “Yes, I guess we do.”

The small helicopter lifted off in a swirl of snow and dirt, and Sara relaxed finally as the pilot swung it around and they clattered down the valley, sunlight flickering off the rotors above them. She was jammed between Vicki and Ian, and although Ian had wrapped his hand around hers, he seemed to be somewhere else, distracted and thoughtfully silent.

She was glad of the noise. It was a good excuse not to talk. She just wanted to get back and have a long, hot shower, change her clothes and get back to work. She was bone tired, not surprising, considering she got precious little sleep last night. But most of all, she just wanted to be alone for a while.

She needed some time. Time to think. Time to figure out what she was going to do now. It was possible that Ian figured they were just going to continue sleeping together, and she had to sort through her feelings about that. And if he didn’t, if he was going to take last night for the one time magic it was, well.. . She had to figure out how to handle him, too. .

They swung around the shoulder of the mountain and down to a cleared area where the Rangers station stood. The pilot headed for the parking lot where there was room to set down, and as they started to descend, Sara saw a flood of people pour out of the building below and rush toward them.

"What on earth?"

“I was afraid of this.” Danny leaned across to peer out at the crowd of people. He looked at Sara and Ian. “Hang on to your hats, folks. This is where it gets interesting. These guys have been hanging around all night, waiting for some word.”

Sara spotted the video cameras, bright with television network decals, and groaned. “Isn’t there any _real_ news for them to cover?”

“You two _are_ real news,” Danny said quietly. “When the president of Vorschlag Industries in a blizzard, that’s news. When he and a female police detective disappear, that’s _big_ news. Speculation ranges from accident to murder to a simple love tryst.”

Beside her, Ian muttered a coarse oath, looking out at the news crews, some already filming the chopper's descent. Danny got out first and tried to disperse the crowd pushing in with their cameras and microphones, but they ignored him, nearly running him down when Ian jumped down from the chopper, then turned to help Sara down.

“Hey, Mr. Nottingham,”

“Here, Miss Pezzini. Look over here!”

Sara blinked, blinded momentarily by the sunlight, trying to turn away as someone shoved a microphone into her face.

“What was it like, being stranded in a snowstorm with one of the worlds most eligible bachelors, Miss Pezzini?” A woman's face loomed in, eyes avid. “Are you and Ian Nottingham lovers, Miss Pezzini?”


	9. Part 9

Ian stepped between the woman and Sara. He dropped his arm around her and started pushing a path through the crowd. “Get out of the way, please,” he said through gritted teeth. “Detective Pezzini and I are fine, but we’re tired and hungry. Someone from Vorschlag Industries will be making an official statement later this morning. Now get the _hell_ out of my way!”

Voices lifted in a storm of shouted questions, and Sara refused to look left or right as microphones and video cam­eras kept being shoved at her, staying close to Ian as Danny and Vicki brought up the rear.

Jake was waiting for them inside the Rangers Station, re­lief stamped all over his face. He greeted them warmly, and then snapped out orders to a couple patrolmen, who immedi­ately stepped in to stop the television crews and reporters stampeding through the big double doors.

After explaining how they became stranded up at the cabin once again to Jake and the Rangers they were finally allowed to leave. Checking the back exit, Danny led Sara and Ian outside. Ian’s car was sitting out back where it had been towed to earlier that morning.

“The choppers is going to come around and pick you too up, I’ll make sure your car gets back safely. Vicki and I will drive it back for you.”

“Thank you Danny.” Ian said, glad he didn’t have to drive back in his exhausted state.

“What about that circus out front Danny,” Sara finally said breaking her silence.

“Don’t worry about them, we’ll take care of it.”

Sara moved over and gave her partner a big hug. What would she ever do without him? The chopper made a quick pass over the building and then turned back to pick them up.

“I’ll call you tonight Sara, go home and rest.” Danny screamed over the sound of the chopper.

“Bye,” Sara said weakly, suddenly feeling even more exhausted than she had before.

Sara and Ian ducked and made their way to the chopper. As they lifted off they could see the reporters streaming in behind the Rangers station desperately trying to get a few shots of them flying away.

The trip back to the city was made in silence. Sara didn’t know what to say to Ian and it seemed he had nothing much to say to her. Despite the awkward silence the trip back seemed to be really quick and in no time they found themselves landing and being shown to a waiting car. First stop was Sara’s apartment. As they pulled up Ian said something to the driver and as soon as they got out he drove away. Sara looked at Ian a little confused but decided not to start anything out in the open. She moved slowly towards her building, Ian close on her heals.

As they reached the lobby, they spotted a small group of reporters hovering around. Pushing past them Ian grabbed Sara’s hand and they made their way up the stairs, the shouts and questions falling away behind them. Finally they were inside her apartment and Ian was closing the door, and all was silent.

“Well, I could have lived without that,” Ian rasped, looking un-amused. “You okay?”

Sara nodded wearily, tossing her still damp jacket onto a chair. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess we should have realized this was going to happen. When word got out that you’d disappeared, it would have shaken up the business community. Your competitors would be praying you _had_ gone over a cliff, and your suppliers and customers would have been praying you hadn’t.”

Ian moved into Sara lounge room and took a seat. Following him, she sat down next to him, not sure what to do next.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back home or to the office?” Sara finally said realizing that she needs sometime alone to think.

“I’m sure they can do without me for a little while longer. It’s not like I run the place on my own you know.”

Getting up from her seat Sara started to move off into the kitchen.

“Hey.” Ian said standing as he reached out as she went to walk by him and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her against him. “What do you say we mess around for a while?” He nuz­zled the side of her throat, his hands wandering with deft familiarity. “We could get naked and spend the next hour or so doing all sorts of things . . . .”

She caught a marauding hand as it slipped under her shirt. “ Ian," she said a little breathlessly.

“You have to have a shower and change and get to work. And we have to draft some sort of statement to keep the press happy.”

Ian didn’t say anything, holding her against him, his warm breath curling around her ear. Then he swore very softly and stepped away from her, his expression unread­able. “You’re right.” Pulling away, he started toward the door.

Watching him disappear through the door, Sara sighed. Maybe she should have just said yes and damned well let everyone wait while she and Ian made love, for the last time, maybe. Then again, maybe not. Groaning aloud, she ran her fin­gers through her hair, pulling it back. She was so confused!


	10. Part 10

Once back, it was as though they hadn’t even been away. As though, Ian thought irritably a few hours later, he’d dreamed the whole damned thing. The drive into the mountains. The storm. Sara. Just one more in the series of increasingly erotic dreams he’d been having.

Ian met with the board of Vorchslag for most of the afternoon, and by nightfall everything was sorted out. The chaos of Ian going missing all taken care off. He could not help but laugh as he thought what would happen to the company if he left, if he decided once and for all to sell up and leave.

Sara. Just thinking about her made him smile. He thought of the small throaty sound of satisfaction she made when they made love. Of the scar on her inner thigh where she’d cut herself accidentally learning to wield the Witchblade. Of the way he’d kissed it last night, letting his mouth linger on the downy flesh there for a moment or two before going on to other, even more interesting places. Of the whispery little sigh she made when he did. . . .

He had to stop this. Just thinking about it made him aroused and uncomfortable, and he jogged up the steps two at a time, laughing at himself. He hadn’t felt this way before, getting distracted at all the wrong times, thinking about sex when he should be thinking about business. Finding himself in the middle of a meeting and suddenly everyone was looking at him, waiting for an answer, and he’d been so lost in a haze of erotic thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the damned question.

Even now, he wanted to see her. Not just to skin her out of her clothes and wrap her long legs around him and make love to her until the sun came up, although God knows that was an ideal, but just to see her. Talk with her. Laugh with her. Be with her.

Hell, it was like being in love.

Still grinning, he made his way to his room and stepped inside, switching on the television as he walked by it, already unbuttoning his shirt. Some game show was in progress, and he ignored it as he pulled open the small bar. He poured himself a glass of wine, then dropped onto the sofa and dropped his head back wearily.

. . . and now the news,” a voice from the television droned. “Millionaire playboy Ian Nottingham, president of Vorschlag Industries, was found alive and unhurt this morning, after having been lost in the mountains.”

Ian threw his head up and glared at the television, the word playboy still ringing in his ears, and found himself staring into his own eyes.

It was videotape, obviously taken as they’d gotten off the helicopter this morning. He swore savagely as he watched himself growl at the offending camera, heavily stubbled, hair uncombed, shirt still unbuttoned and hanging open, looking as though he’d just been caught in someone’s bed.

The video was replaced by a still photo. It was a couple of years old, taken at a benefit he had attended, and his eyes narrowed now as he looked at it. He was dressed to the nines, looking impatient, and some woman long forgotten hung on his arm obviously hoping to nab herself a rich husband. The photo made him wince.

“Voted one of the world’s most Eligible bachelors Nottingham has made a reputation for himself for his kamikaze investment strategies much in the vein of his late father, Kenneth Irons, as well as for his fondness for beautiful women.”

Two more pictures followed: Ian standing next too a well to do socialite and a snapshot of him talking to a beautiful woman at some other charity do. He had no idea who both these women were.

“Found with Nottingham was Detective Sara Pezzini.” This accompanied by more of the video, and Ian swore again as he watched Sara get out of the helicopter, looking subdued and tired. “It has long been rumored that the relationship between Nottingham and Detective Pezzini goes well beyond business, though sources close to both deny this vigorously.”

On the television screen, his alter ego was putting a protective arm around Sara’s shoulder, guiding her through the crowd, holding her close. Too close, Ian thought. He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t be putting Sara through all this because the media wanted to portray him as a womanizer.

There was a tap on his door and then the door was pushed open wide enough for her to stick her head in. She spotted the television and made a face, then pushed the door wider and came in. “So you already have it on.”

“Bastards,” Ian muttered. “A million real news stories out there, and they’re wasting airtime speculating whether you and I are getting it on.”

“You could always call up the station and tell them we are. Or did, anyway.” Smiling comfortably, she came over and sat beside him, tucking her feet up. “That’s a good picture of Olivia.”

“Who?” Came Ian’s reply as he watched the screen.

“Nottingham,” the woman anchoring the news desk was saying, “has been most recently linked with twice-divorced attorney Olivia Woods. Asked about her relationship with Nottingham, Woods declined to answer.”

“I didn’t think she’d miss the opportunity,” Sara said sweetly.

“She only my attorney for God’s sake.” Ian said in his defense.

“I know, I was just teasing.” Sara said laughing.

Grinning, Ian picked up the remote control and turned off the TV. Then he dropped his arm around her. “Want a drink?”

“Maybe later.” She looked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and gave him a slow smile. “So. What now, hotshot? Do you take me to bed, or do we just shake hands and say thanks, it was great, and that’s the end of it?”

Ian leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees, rolling the glass between his palms. “Guess that’s up to you.”

“Am I to infer that means you don’t have an opinion?” “Oh, I have an opinion.” He turned his head to grin at her.

“Bed. That’s my opinion.” Then he let the grin fade and looked back at the glass, tipping it back and forth swirling the last of his wine.

“It could get complicated, Sara. Sleeping together. Real complicated.”

“Yeah. I know.” She sounded thoughtful.

“And I’m scared of losing you.” He glanced at her again, deadly serious now.

“Sex has a way of making people crazy. If it starts to go wrong and you walk out of my life . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She looked at him for a long while, eyes pensive. “Yeah, I guess there’s that.” Then she smiled faintly, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “Take me to bed, Ian. Make love to me. And in the morning, we’ll just take things as they come, all right?”


	11. Part 11

It made him grin and he got to his feet, pulling her up with him. “That’s a hard offer to turn down.” She came into his arms effortlessly, as though she belonged there, and he held her tightly against him and gazed down into her upturned face, feeling something pull wire-tight inside him, making him a little dizzy. “Why the hell would you want to spend time with a playboy millionaire like me?”

Laughing, she leaned back in his arms and gazed up at him, her eyes as warm and inviting as an unmade bed. “I guess because I love you, you idiot. It feels like I always have. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Ian smiled and lowered his mouth to hers, nibbling her lower lip. “Guess it’ll do,” he whispered. “Guess it’ll do.”

And much later, deep within the liquid fire of her, moving between her thighs slowly and rhythmically, feeling her respond, watching her respond, he felt that wire pull taut again, white-hot, catching a little in his chest.

She moaned very softly and tightened her thighs on his hips, shifting to take him even deeper, turning her head this way and that on the pillow and whispering his name in a breath-caught voice. He lowered his mouth and kissed her deeply and slowly, tongue sliding against hers in rhythms matching their lovemaking, feeling her shiver, tasting her desire as his own.

She moaned again and turned her mouth away, close now, so close . . . and he smiled, loving watching her when she simply let herself go like this, oblivious to everything but him and the pleasure he was giving her. Panting, she arched under him strongly, whimpering a little, hips flexing urgently, and he smiled again. Knowing what she needed. Knowing exactly how to make it perfect for her, even after just a handful of times.

He carried her through it and down, down the far side, finally letting himself go with the same abandon. And as it caught him in a dizzying explosion of pure sensation, he realized, very dimly, that this had to be the last time.

The last time.

Ian lay on his back; sheets kicked off, and stared at the ceiling. Beside him, Sara was sound asleep, curled up against him, her mouth lifted on a faint smile. He looked at her and reached out to brush her hair off her cheek, letting his fingers linger on her moist, warm cheek.

He’d made some mistakes in his life before, but none quite like this. What the hell had he been thinking anyway?

Sex, that’s what he’d been thinking. Like a dog in heat, that’s all he’d been thinking. Him. It had all been about him.

But it was Sara who was going to get hurt. He’d do nothing but break her heart. What did he know of relationships and love, he could never be the man of her dreams? Playboy millionaire, he laughed. If they only knew, the real him. The assassin, the freak that was him, all right.

That was the real Ian Nottingham, not the man Sara had let take her to bed up in the mountains. That was the Ian he longed to be, the one he always knew she wanted. The one she could love.

But there was no way he could be the man she needed and deserved. Hell, his past would never let him go. He didn’t know the first thing about commitment and love and making relationships work. If he led her on, if he let her think he was capable of giving more than he could, he was going to destroy everything between them. And he couldn’t do that to his best friend. Even if he was in love with her. So it had to end. Here. And he had to leave her with no doubt whatsoever that she was better off without him in her life and bed.

“You’re going to what?” Sara simply stared at Ian blankly, because there was quite simply no way he could have said what she’d thought he’d just said.

He looked at her from across his office, looking a little impatient at her apparent inability to understand plain English. “I said, I’m leave. Moving to London, for good.”

Sara took a deep breath, and then eased it out again quite calmly. Thought about it for a moment. All morning he’d been silent and grumpy, not saying more than four or five words, not looking at her. He’d dropped her off at her apartment and she’d showered and changed, then had come down to his office . . . and now he was standing there telling her he was leaving.

“Ian, are you drunk?”

“No, I am not drunk.” His eyes glittered slightly.

“Insane?”

“No.” He bit it off.

“You can’t be serious.” She still sounded calm, she thought. Even rational. But inside she was screaming.

“Dead serious.”

She drew in another careful breath, wondering if she could still be asleep and this was just a particularly nasty specimen of nightmare.

"You can't just leave." she said very reasonably.

“Why not?” Ian growled. His eyes held hers almost challengingly. “Look, Sara, I’m sorry. I know this weekend got a little out of hand, but . . .”

 

“Out of hand?” Her voice sounded almost too soft. Dangerous, even. “You spend most of the weekend making love with me, and all you can say is that it got a little out of hand?”

“Sara . . .”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me,” Sara said through gritted teeth, “that I imagined the whole thing. That we did not make love, excuse me have sex, about a dozen times in the past two days. That it meant absolutely nothing.”

“You didn’t imagine it. And it did mean something, damn it.”

“Like hell it did! You didn’t sleep with me because you wanted to, you slept with me because you didn’t want anyone else to!”

Ian stared at her. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard! What the hell kind of a man do you think I am?”

“That’s why you can’t stand the idea of me being with Jake, too. Not because you want me, but because you don’t want him to have me. I’m like . . .like damned property to you! What are you going to do, make love to me once every decade just to keep your flag flying over me so no other man will dare even look at me?”

“Sara, we . . .”

“Don’t!” So furious she was shaking Sara clenched her fists at her sides, clinging to the fury for dear life. If the anger slipped even a little bit she’d fall apart, here and now and right in front of him, and there was just no way that was going to happen.

“Don’t you dare hand me a bunch of morning after platitudes like I’m just someone you picked up in a bar! I am not the flavor of the week, Nottingham. You do not spend a weekend in bed with me and then turn around and casually announce you are going leave me and expect me to smile and step back.”

Her voice nearly broke but she managed to catch it in time. “You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me!” She turned around and stalked toward the door, so stiff, she was half afraid of shattering before she got there. She felt sick and numb to the bone, her mind spinning with disbelief and anger and a pain so great, it was like deep surf sweeping over her.

“Sara? Sara . . .”

But she was out the door and gone, storming out, leaving a trail of slamming doors and astonished looks behind her.

To Ian's surprise, she was back in an hour. Looking calm and under control.

Maybe too calm, he decided warily, watching her through the open door of his office. She took off her jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, then turned and walked toward him, giving him a cool look as she strode through the door.

“Your assistant told me you were still here working.” She sounded brisk and no-nonsense, and he nodded even more warily, looking around for his missing folder. “Yes.”

Reaching down to a pile of papers on the floor, she pulled together the papers, put them back into the empty folder and slapped it down on the desk in front of him.

Ian winced. “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t see what’s right in front of me.”

“You got that right!” Turning on one heel, she parked herself in an empty chair.

He watched her as she sat down, starting to feel uneasy for no reason he could pin down. God knows, she’d been mad at him before. Plenty of times. But there was something different this time. Something. . . final. Maybe he’d gone too far this time. Maybe he should have figured out a better way to handle it.

He was mulling this over, thinking about how he could start making amends, when she finally moved. Sara walked across to stop in front of his desk. Her face expressionless. Reaching for her wrist, she removed the Witchblade and placed it on the table in front of him.

“I want out.”

“Out?” Frowning, he glanced down at the Witchblade where she’d set in front of him. Not understanding.

“What the hell?” He looked up at her.

“I’m quitting.”

“You can’t quit.” He nearly laughed as he said it, the idea so preposterous; it had to be a joke. Her way of getting even with him.

Her eyes just held his; glowing with a deep anger he’d never seen before.

“Yes, I can, Ian. And I am.”

“Sara this isn’t something you can just quit. I need you, they need you.”


	12. Part 12

“No. You _want_ me, but you don't _need_ me. I know you don’t quite understand the difference, but you’ll figure it out. Find someone else to handle whatever needs doing. As of now, I’m out of here.”

“As of now?” He said it dryly, pushing the sheet of pa­per away from him. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve got three weeks of vacation coming to me, and I’m taking it.” She smiled very slightly, but there was a distinct chill to it. “For a honeymoon.”

He just stared at her, not smiling now. Knowing she didn’t mean it, but not appreciating the joke. “Honeymoon?”

“I bought my wedding dress. Would you like to see it?”

“Wedding dress?”

“Invitations are going to be a problem though,” she added conversationally, as though they were talking about what to have for lunch. “It takes about three weeks to get the engraving done, but I don’t have three weeks. So...” She smiled.

“Consider yourself invited, Nottingham. I’ll let you know the details later.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about, Sara? Who’s getting married?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ve decided to marry Jake.”

Slowly Ian got to his feet, feeling the blood starting to thrum in his temples. “Quit fooling around, Sara. Enough’s enough. I know you’re just trying to . . .”

Her eyes glittered with anger. “I’m not _trying_ to do any­thing, Nottingham. I’m going to marry Jake. I’ve already called him and told him. We’ll be in LA tomorrow.”

“You called him?” Something went through Ian like a sword blade, ice-cold and deadly and right through the heart. He forgot to breathe for a moment or two, his mind wheeling with the enormity, the impossibility, of what she’d just said. “You actually told Jake McCarty you’re going to marry him?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

Somehow, Ian managed a bark of laughter, raking his hair back with his hand. “A problem? A _problem?_ Good God Almighty, woman, of course I have a _problem_ with that!” His voice reverberated through the room and he fought to lower it, trying to stay calm. “You don’t love the man! How the hell can you marry him when you don’t even love him?”

“Oh, so marrying someone you don’t love is a problem.” She just looked across the desk at him, her eyes as cold as ice. “My God, you are a piece of work! You’d prefer me to be alone, wouldn’t you? Expect me to go back to my life and pretend everything’s fine.” She gave a rough, unsteady laugh, shaking her head slowly. “No more, Nottingham. I’ve been through this more times than I can count already. Good old Sara isn’t taking it anymore. I am out of here. You’re on your own.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” It was a bellow of anger and confusion, and he glowered across the desk at her, wanting something that made some sense. Something softened in her eyes for just a moment, a hint of gentleness that warmed her mouth. “I know you don’t, Ian. And I guess that’s the real reason I’m leaving.”

Ian simply stood there as she turned and walked out, not really believing it. Still not believing it as he watched her walk through the outer door to the building a few minutes later without even a backward glance.

He took a deep breath. Then another. It was very quiet. Too quiet. As though all the energy and life had been drained from the world. He could hear the old antique clock on the wall behind him ticking. Could hear, faintly, the sound of traffic on the street below. Voices, far away. Un­important. The sound of his own heart beating, echoing in the emptiness his life had just become. 


	13. Part 13

He felt oddly hollow. As though he were merely a shell of someone he’d once been, the core of him gone, nothing left but the outer wrappings. He thought, fleetingly, of the Witchblade as it stared up at him from his desk. Of how hard it was going to be without her.

Without her.

It wasn’t possible, of course. She’d get halfway home and realize she’d overreacted and would be back up here, a bit embarrassed, laughing about it. And it would be like old times again. Just him and Sara against the world.

It made him feel better, thinking it through like that. He sat down and started reading the report she’d found for him, but none of it made much sense. His assistant came in, not looking at him, putting some things on his desk and walking out again without a word. He heard the elevator whisper to a stop down at the end of the corridor a little while later and looked up expectantly, waiting for Sara to come striding through the door, hair flying, eyes sparkling, trailing laughter and sunshine and that special magic she always had. But no one came through, and after a while he told himself he was being stupid and to get back to work. She’d be back. She had to come back. She was his best friend. And best friends didn’t just leave like that.

But she didn’t come back. And he went home that night more pensive than usual. He thought of calling her three or four times but decided not to, half-afraid of making things worse until he could figure out what had gone wrong.

He was still thinking about it when he went to bed a little after midnight. Lay awake half the night thinking about it, dozing once or twice then jolting himself awake, calling her name. And finally, just before dawn, he made up his mind. He’d call her and tell her he was coming over. That they had to talk it out. Work it out. That she didn’t have to marry Jake. That she _couldn't_ marry Jake. Because she didn’t love Jake, she loved him.

I guess because I love you, you idiot. It feels like I always have . . . Ian felt something cold run through him, hardly breathing, the words echoing and reechoing through him. _Because I love you._

She hadn’t just been saying the words because they were what he’d wanted to hear at that moment. She’d meant them.

Sara Pezzini was in love with him. _Feels like I always have_. “Oh my God.” A wave of vertigo washed over him and he closed his eyes. Love. The one damn thing in this entire universe he didn’t understand. It had always eluded him.

With Sara, it was different. There had been moments of passion with enough heat to set the world aflame but with her, there had been something else, something deep and profound and important _._ Something he’d never really taken apart and looked at until now. A quiet thing. A special, never ending thing.

Love

Slowly, very slowly, he eased out a tight breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. Thought of it again, letting the word run through him.

She was heading to LA to marry Jake McCarty. Swearing breathlessly, he was out of bed in the next heartbeat. Not even bothering to shower or Shave, he pulled on his clothes and grabbed his car keys and was out the door in less than ten minutes, heart hammering against his chest. She would still be there, he told himself calmly as he wheeled out of the driveway. She hadn’t left yet. He wouldn’t be too late.

If she could just stop crying, damn it, everything would be fine.

Sara gritted her teeth and battled against a fresh flood of tears, refusing to give in. Poor Jake. He was looking frazzled and harried and worried half to death, and his mother obviously figured her future daughter-in-law was a nut case.

Even the staff at Jake’s mother’s estate had started looking at her a little oddly. She knew they were whispering about her in the back corridors, rolling their eyes when they saw her starting to puddle up again for no reason.

Just thinking about it brought tears to her eyes and she fought them gamely. Two days. She’d been here with Jake and his mother for two days, and they had next to nothing accomplished.

There was so much to do. The invitations. The catering. The church. The reception. Plane tickets to buy for her friends. Plans to make for the honeymoon.

The honeymoon. Fresh tears welled up and spilled, and she swallowed hard, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. This had to stop. She had to get a grip on herself. She had a wedding to plan. A life to plan.

Jake was talking about kids already, and they hadn’t even chosen the menu for the wedding reception. James, he’d told her this morning. He wanted to name their first son James. It made her laugh for some reason, thinking of her with a son named James. Thinking of herself married. Flowers. Damn, she still had to choose the flowers . . .


	14. Part 14

Getting to LA had been the easy part. Unable to get the company jet back in time, he’d stood in the airport and had calmly told the ticket agent that if he didn’t get on the first plane headed out, he would purposefully and calmly start taking the place apart. But there had been a screw up, connecting flights that didn’t connect. He’d gotten himself rerouted to Chicago, then to Dallas, missing the criti­cal flight out Denver by ten minutes. There had been a choice: wait until morning and go straight through to LA, or cut across to St. Louis, catch a commuter to Seattle, down to LA. He’d done it finally, only to find that Jake and his bride-to-be were at the estate of his mother somewhere in Santa Monica.

 _Bride-to-be._ The word gnawed through him as he swung the rental through a series of unfamiliar roads that led, he hoped, to the McCarty place. At least he hadn’t been too late. There was still time.

If he could find the damn place. He glanced at the rough map the kid at the last gas station had drawn for him, try­ing to read it and stay on the road, wondering if he should have turned left back at that last crossroad.

 _Bride-to-be._ If he could just find the place. If he wasn’t too late.

“Roses, of course.” Jake’s mother said it slowly and clearly, as though Sara weren’t really comprehending. “White and pink. And lilies. Just a simple bouquet is so effective, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Sara said with a bright smile, not having a clue what she’d just agreed to.

“Oh, and we must settle on the wine for the reception. I do have a wonderful cellar here, of course, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Oh, and we _must_ decide once and for all on the dessert course.”

“Triple Chocolate Surprise,” Sara said wist­fully.

“Triple what?” Jake’s mother looked at her strangely. “Never heard of it. Sounds frightfully rich. I’ll see if Cook can find the recipe.” She gave a sniff. “I was thinking of Crème Brulee.”

“Whatever.” Sara swallowed a sigh, looking longingly at the door. She wished she had the courage to simply get up and walk out. Some fresh air would be nice. But she had a wedding to plan. “Crème Brulee will be fine, Mrs. McCartey.”

Snapdragons. Ian looked at the bedraggled bouquet in his fist and cursed himself. Why the hell he’d given in to the whim to buy the things in the first place was beyond him. She’d take one look at them and kick him out for the fool he was. If he ever got in. He looked at the door in front of him and took a deep breath. It looked about a foot thick, as though someone thought it might have to hold out marauding armies. But it was by God not going to hold him out. Lifting his fist, he pounded on it again.

It whipped open and a small, Hispanic woman glared at him. “You must go to the back. All people to help with the gar­den, to the back!”

“I’m not . .” He caught the door just as it was slamming closed, planting himself firmly in the way. “I want to see Sara Pezzini.”

“Sara Pezzini?” She said confused. “No, that impossible. To back door. Gardeners to back door.”                                                

Ian drew in a deep breath to argue with her, then just stepped by her. “To hell with it,” he muttered, ignoring her angry protests. Striding down a center hallway the size of a football stadium and trailing an increasingly wrathful con­tingent of distraught servants, he bellowed Sara’s name a time or two, deciding he’d wasted enough time.

“Goose liver Pate, of course,” Jake’s mother was say­ing, frowning over the written list in her hand. “Lamb, Pheasant, Venison.”

“Venison?” Sara snapped back into consciousness.

“You want me to eat Bambi at my own wedding?”

Jake’s mother blinked. “Bambi? Why, my dear, we. .”

“Sara! Damn it to hell, Sara, I know you’re here! Sara!” The voice bellowed up from downstairs like a battle cry, and Sara went utterly motionless. Now she was hearing things, she decided calm1y. She looked at Jake’s mother, hoping she hadn’t noticed anything. But she’d heard something, too. She stared at Sara for a horrified moment, and then got to her feet. “What on earth . . .”

And then, suddenly, he was there. Ian, all six foot ­two of him, wide shouldered and thunderous, filling the room with noise and energy. Three servants tumbled in af­ter him, and talking at the top of their voices, all falling in­stantly silent at the sight of Mrs. McCartey.

The silence stretched taut. Ian stared across the room at Sara, and she just sat there, staring back at him in astonishment. He looked terrible, his clothes wrinkled, hair in disarray. It looked as though he hadn't changed his clothing or brushed his hair in days. And he was holding a bunch of snapdragons, she realized numbly. He’d    always known she loved snapdragons.

“And who,” Jake’s mother asked regally, “are you?”

“Ian Nottingham, ma’am. And I’m here to take Sara home.”

“Home?” The elegant voice rose slightly with indulgent amusement. “I think, young man that you are in the wrong house. Or certainly in the wrong century.”

“What are you doing here?” Sara’s voice was just a furious whisper.

“Taking you home,” he repeated stubbornly.

“You can’t just come in here and . .” Sara caught her­self. Drew in a deep breath. “Ian, please leave. Now.” “No damn way.” To her astonishment, he grinned, shaking his head in that slow, deliberate way he had.

“You’re mine. And I’m taking you back to NY. Now.”


	15. Part 15

“Have you lost your mind?” Sara said shocked.

“Young man, I think. . .”

“Excuse me.” Very gently Ian grasped Jake’s mother by the elbow and escorted her to the door, shooing servants ahead of him like a flock of geese. Then, even more gently, he closed the door on the lot of them.

Sara opened her mouth, then closed it again, not having the faintest idea of what to say. He’d lost his mind, obviously. Maybe he was having the same kind of meltdown that she was. He looked at the flowers in his left hand for a moment, and then handed them to her. She took them automatically.

“Sara, I don’t even know where to start.” He stammered.

He really was in bad shape.

“Ian, would you like to sit down?” she asked gently. “How about a cup of tea?” She gestured toward the silver carafe on the low table by the fireplace. “A drink?”

“I don’t want to sit down, I don’t want tea, I don’t want a drink. I want you.” Slowly, as though half-afraid she’d bolt if he made a sudden move, he walked toward her. “You were right when you said I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. But it took damn near losing you to realize how much I love you. Probably always have.”

“You love me.” She said it dryly, trying not to laugh. “Is this your idea of a joke, Nottingham? Because it’s not going to work. I am not coming back; find someone else for the Witchblade. Jake and I are getting married in four days, and. . .”

“I love you.”

He said it almost defiantly this time; jaw jutting forward slightly, as though daring her to deny it. Sara just looked at him, her mind a sudden blank.         

“Well, damn it, are you going to say something?” He raked his hair back, looking exasperated and impatient, and started to pace. “I just did not recognize it, that’s all. I always figured love was... hell, passion. Fireworks. Hand grenades. I didn’t know it felt like a warm blanket. I didn’t know that what I’ve been feeling about you all this time was really love _._ ”

“Ian” She had to stop, finding it difficult to breath. “Ian,” she repeated softly, “is this some sort of revenge thing? Are you telling me this now to get even with me for. .”

“No, Sara.” He walked across and put both hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes, serious and suddenly very calm. “I know you’re in love with me. I know that. What I’m trying to explain is that I’m in love with you. Not just that I love you, but I’m in love with you. There’s a difference.”

“I know.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a sob.

“I don’t want you to marry Jake, I want you to marry me. I want you to come back to NY and marry me and live with me. I want you in my life Sara. Forever.”

“Wielder and Protector?” Her voice broke slightly and she gazed up at him, hardly even daring to believe.

“Husband and wife.” He settled his mouth over hers, kissing her lightly. Evocatively.

The door behind them burst open, and Ian wheeled around, putting himself squarely between Sara and whoever was coming through.

Jake McCartey stood there for a moment, eyes blazing. Then he gave a snort of laughter. “So it is you, Nottingham. My mother thinks one of the gardeners broke in to kidnap my fiancée.”

“I am,” Ian said bluntly.

Jake nodded, a smile playing around his mouth. “I wondered if you’d get here in time.” The smile widened. “I was getting a little worried actually. If you hadn’t turned up, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. Marry Sara and keep my mouth shut, or do the honorable thing and fly back to NY to pound some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

Sara gave a whuff of indignation and stepped around Ian. “What do you mean, you didn’t know what you’d do? I thought you loved me!”

“I do,” Jake said gently. “Problem is, sweetheart, you don’t love me.”

“I most certainly do!”

Ian nearly grinned. She sounded almost normal again. “You love Nottingham, not me. I’ve always known it, but I sort of hoped . . . well, it doesn’t matter now.” Smiling, Jake walked across and held out his hand. “You’re a hell of a lucky man, Nottingham. I just hope you know how lucky. Because if you screw up and hurt her, I’ll . . .”

“I am not going to screw up.” Ian took Jake's hand and shook it firmly. “Not this time.” He looked down at Sara, who was still staring at him as though not quite believing he was real. “Let’s go home.”


	16. Part 16

Sara stood for a thoughtful moment at the top of the companionway leading down to the head. Then she turned and tottered back to where Ian was stretched out on the teak deck of the anchored sailboat, watching her in mild concern.

“Are you going to be alright?”

“False alarm.” She was still looking a little pale, though, and she sat down beside him with a thump.

“Sara, if I’d known you were going to get seasick, I’d never have suggested this trip. You never told me you get seasick.”

“I’m not seasick. I’m pregnant. There’s a difference. Although at the moment I couldn’t tell you what it is.”

Ian had to laugh, reaching out to slip his fingers around hers. The twin bands of gold and diamonds on her ring fin­ger caught the sun and glittered, and he ran his thumb over them wonderingly. Four months married, and he still couldn’t believe it.

Sara tipped her face up to the sun and he smiled again, seeing that some of the color had come back into her cheeks. This being pregnant routine wasn’t that easy to get used to either. Three months already. Six to go, and he’d be holding his first child.

“I can’t believe I nearly let you get away from me,” Ian said quietly. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. That I didn’t know.” He subdued a shudder, thinking of what his life would have been like if he hadn’t gone after her. He watched as Sara spilled suntan oil on her fin­gers and started smoothing it along her arm and shoulder. She’d be married to Jake now. And him? Hell, who knows, he’d probably be England, alone and miserable.

Sara smiled and reached down to unknot the beach towel she’d wrapped around her earlier. It dropped to her waist and she put her arms over her head and stretched like a cat, bare breasts already fuller with pregnancy. “I can’t believe you nearly let me get away, either. I'd pretty much given up on you, and that’s the truth.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I won’t stay out long enough to burn.”

“I was not talking about the sun. I was talking about me.”

Grinning, he rolled over and lifted up onto one elbow to nuzzle one sun warmed breast, touching the nipple with his tongue and smiling as he felt it grow hard. “You are giving me all sorts of ideas here, lady.”

“Good ones?” Her voice was filled with laughter and she cradled his head against her.

“Damn right.” He slid his hand between her inner thighs and pushed them apart gently, knowing she wasn’t wearing a thing under the towel but suntan. They’d made love a scant hour ago, but he was aroused and hard already, won­dering if he’d ever get his fill of her. Doubting it.

“Ian. .” Laughing, she lay back languidly. “What are you up to?”

“No damn good,” he murmured, kissing the delicate, soft skin on the inside of her thigh. “I think you were warned about men like me.”

“Numerous times.” Her breath caught. Caught again.

Smiling, Ian traced a leisurely line of kisses up the soft swell of her belly and across her left breast, pausing there for an enjoyable moment or two. Then, finally, he found her mouth with his and kissed her even more leisurely.

And wondered, as he wrapped his arms around her, how he had ever thought that love was a complicated thing. Love was looking down into his wife’s eyes and seeing everything he ever needed to know. Love was waking in the night and watching her sleep beside him, her mouth still touched by laughter, and knowing it was forever. Love was the tight, warm hug he felt around his heart every time he even thought of her. Love was...Sara. Forever. And always.


End file.
